The Right Move (Windy City Series Book 2)

In two quick strides I have her pinned against the wall, legs slung over my hips, and the straps of her pretty red dress falling over the slopes of her shoulders. Chests pressed together, I can feel her thumping heart as I work my mouth over the length of her neck. I kiss and lick the delicate skin, feeling a soft whimper work its way up her throat and against my lips.

Moving south, I brush my wet mouth against her collarbone as her chest becomes pink and flush. Her nipples are perfect little peaks, showing through her bra, and lifting the red satin away from her body. God, I want to put them in my mouth and suck and bite, maybe see if I can make her come from that alone.

Because tonight is all about her. She’s going to come harder than she’s ever come in her life.

I’m unbelievably hard from the lead up of our night. Fuck, the lead up of the last couple of months, but the fact I’m going to make Indy come until she can’t see straight doesn’t change the promise I made to myself. I can do this. I can touch her and lick her and make her scream all without fucking her.

“Ryan,” Indy pants. “My room. Take me to my room.”

She moves, grinding her pussy over my erection and with her dress bunched up around her hips, there’s only a couple of layers of fabric between us. I hiss an inhale from the friction, precum already leaking from the tip because well, I haven’t been touched in years. I haven’t been touched in years and now I have the most gorgeous woman, who’s incredibly smart and caring, in my arms, her pussy seeking my cock with every rock of her hips. She’s hot already, and I could bet good money that she’s wet too.

I turn towards her room, but I can’t do it. I avoid that place at all costs, and it sure as hell won’t be the first place I make her come tonight.

Instead, I carry her to the couch, dropping her on her back, my mouth still latched to her neck, ear, chest. Anywhere I can taste her other than her mouth.

I didn’t lie when I said I don’t like faking intimacy. Last time my jealousy wouldn’t let me hold back from tasting her mouth with mine. I know how I feel about Indy, and fuck, I’ve wanted to kiss ever since the she first time she opened that pretty mouth and spoke, but she’s blatantly told me this is all she can give me, and the idea of getting invested in another woman who doesn’t reciprocate my intentions is terrifying.

She asked me to help her come. She didn’t ask me to get attached and kiss those pouty lips until I can’t think straight. Until I can’t walk straight. God, I want to though.

Her long blonde hair pushes back into the pillows beneath her, arching her back and pushing her chest into me. Her fingers grab for the buttons on my shirt, undoing them as I kiss my way along the soft slopes of her shoulders. Finding the bows holding her dress straps together, I take the satin between my teeth, pulling at the fabric until it falls open. By the time I’ve undone the other as well, Indy has my white dress shirt completely open.

Her soft hands and red-painted nails rake down my abs and fuck if that doesn’t make me grow ten times harder.

“I touched myself thinking of you,” she admits.

Fucking hell. My dick is aching, crying against my zipper from the six hottest words I’ve ever heard in my life.

Chocolate eyes peer up at me from behind dark lashes, waiting for me to say something.

“What did you think about?”

“Your hands.”

“Oh yeah?” I palm her breast through her dress, gliding my hand up, my fingers and thumb gripping the edges of her throat. “What else?”

I lightly squeeze the sides of her neck, testing to see if she’s into that sort of thing.

Her agreeable moan vibrates against my palm.

“This,” she exhales. “You on top of me. How it would feel to be under you.”

With my knees between her thighs, I hook my index finger into the neckline of her dress, pulling it down to her belly. My eyes immediately drop to her chest. Hard nipples pull taut under her bra which happens to be strapless and black, subtle yet devastatingly sexy.

“Your favorite color.”

Good God. 

I’m going to be the guy who comes in his pants from a few words. Granted, they’re the perfect words coming from the most kissable mouth, but if I don’t take back some control, this night is going to go very differently than I planned.

“You didn’t come when you thought about me, Ind? Because every time I’ve touched myself while thinking of you, I’ve come so hard I almost black out.”

“You touch yourself while thinking of me?”

I exhale a humorless laugh. “That night we went camping? I thought about you while I was in the shower and just about every time since.”

Her hands rake down my stomach again, every muscle in my abdomen contracting. “Why didn’t you do something about it when you came back to bed?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to, but I’ve dreamt of seeing you like this. On your back, your legs around me.”

She reaches for the buckle on my belt, unfastening it. “Well, you’ve got me here now, so what are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

Her movements halt, brows forming the most adorably frustrated scowl. “What?”

I run both my palms over her stomach and waist, loving the way she feels under my touch. “I’m not going to do anything. You’re going to. You’re going to make yourself come.”

“But I can’t,” she protests. “It doesn’t work. Please, Ryan. You said you’d help me.”

“I am helping. I’m going to distract you, and you’re going to touch yourself.” I take her hand, guiding it to her lower stomach. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course, I do.” Her eyes soften. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation, and the realization that I’ve never trusted another woman more than I do Indy has me real close to finding a condom and saying fuck it to my two-year celibacy streak.

There’s a fierce surge of possessiveness running through me, screaming mine. Her legs are spread on my couch. She lives in my house. She wants my cock.

But I internally scold myself. Tonight is for her.

“Touch yourself, Ind. Make yourself feel good.” Sitting up on my knees, I peel off my shirt, tossing it to the ground. “But first, for the love of God, show me what’s underneath.”

Falling over her, I keep myself hovering her body with one arm, my dick gliding against her center. I almost come right then, and the painful buildup worsens when Indy arches her back in pleasure, giving me just enough room to unclasp her bra with my free hand.

Fabric in my favorite color loosens around her bust before she drops it to the ground. Her tits are fucking wonderful, tempting and needing to be sucked.

“Ind,” I breathe out in disbelief, leaning back to get a better view. “You’re fucking beautiful. I mean, I knew you were, but dear God.”

“You should probably touch me then, don’t you think?”

Little smartass.

I nod. “Probably.”

Her tits are less than a handful, but when I grab one and squeeze, it feels perfect in my palm. I run my thumb over the hard pebbled peak with so much tender appreciation. Thanking her for letting me see her body, for letting me touch her.

She whimpers the most angelic cry.

Her palm curves around the back of my neck, pulling me down, and without further hesitation, I take her nipple, sucking the rose tip before flicking it with my tongue. Taking her flesh between my teeth, I gently bite, letting her precious cries fill our living room.

Her lower half is squirming with anticipation, her pussy finding friction against me. I take my time moving on to her other breast, giving equal attention and admiration.

Between us, I move her hand back to the hem of her dress, using my own to guide it upward. “Show me.”

I lick a path between her tits, my eyes locking on hers. She’s dilated and dazed, soft under my tongue. I love seeing her like this. My chaotic girl is even more disordered, unable to breathe in a steady rhythm, unable to let her mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

Looking down, I watch our hands bring her dress up, slowly sliding the satin against her soft thighs. It gathers around her hips, and she lifts her ass off the couch to bring the material to her waist.

I’ve never loved the color black more than I do now, seeing it wet and between Indy’s legs.

I want to bury myself in her, in her scent. I want to lick and suck and tongue what I know is going to be the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen, but tonight is about her remembering she can take care of herself.

I bury my head into the crook of her neck, looking down between us. My erection is desperate for relief, but I’m trying my hardest to show some restraint.

That control I’m so good at? Yeah, it’s about to fly out of the fucking window. I’m two seconds away from ripping that thong off, needing to see all of her.

“Show me,” I beg once again, fisting my hands on the couch. “Please show me.”

She toys with the string on her hips, her fire-engine red fingernails running the length of the fabric covering her center.

“Don’t tease me, Blue.” It’s a warning. “Fucking show me.”

My hips are rocking into the air, waiting impatiently. Ever so slightly and ever so tediously slowly, she pulls the black fabric to the side, showing me the glistening folds of the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen.

“Jesus, Ind,” I choke out in admiration. “How are you real? You’re fucking stunning.”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

There’s a small patch of trimmed hair just above the cleft. Dark pinkish-purple folds gleam with her arousal. Her slit is tempting and teetering me on the edge of flat-out giving up years of practiced celibacy, solely to find out what it would feel like to have those lips slide over my cock.

I want to touch her, spread her, see every part of her, but she’s supposed to be touching herself. She’s supposed to be learning, my little Ivy-League student.

Taking her hand, I guide it south, covering her fingers with my own. I use our index and middle fingers to rub the length of her core before opening her and letting me see that perfect pink bud, tight and wet.

She’s soaked, her arousal not only coats her fingers, but mine too. I want to put it in my mouth, lick every inch of her off me.

Her body stiffens, interrupting my carnal thoughts. Peering up, those soft brown eyes latch on to mine, giving me all the trust in the world and fuck if I don’t melt on the spot.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, her throat moving in the prettiest swallow, my mind racing with dirty ways I’d love to see her swallow again.

“I’m nervous.”

Brows pinched, I ask, “Why?”

My confident roommate, nervous?

She laughs uncomfortably. “I feel like a virgin. It’s just been a long time.”

“Tell me about it.”

She smiles at that, that kissable bottom lip sliding between her teeth.

“If you want to stop, tell me. But you don’t have to be nervous with me. God, you’re fucking perfect, Blue. Pretend you’re alone, in your room, touching yourself.”

“I don’t want to pretend I’m alone.”

Of course, she doesn’t. She never does.

“I like knowing you’re here. That you’re watching me.”

“Then I’ll just be here, eternally grateful that I get to watch you make yourself come.” I move her hand once again, forcing a bit more pressure and together, we find her clit.

I show her how to rub a circle around the bud, how to flick, how to squeeze it just the way I would if her hand wasn’t between me and her body.

“Oh God, that feels good.” Her head falls back into the couch below her and I continue to help her work herself up.

Her chest is moving rapidly, her tits begging for attention. I take one in my mouth, continuing to move her hand.

“What’s your thing, Ind, huh? Do you like to be called names in bed? Do you like to be talked down to?”

She lets out a tiny moan, but I think it has more to do with the pull of her nipple between my teeth and the flick of our fingers coasting over her clit, and less to do with what I said. Because I know this girl and there’s not a world in which she wants to be called a degrading name. She likes to be told she’s lovely and smart.

“No, that’s not it. My little valedictorian likes to be praised, doesn’t she?”

A whimper. The prettiest, sexiest sound I’ve ever heard comes from her throat.

“Clever girl like you, you want to hear how good you’re doing. How perfect you are. How well you’re taking it.”

I feel our fingers getting wetter the more I talk.

“Well, Blue, you’re doing so fucking good. Do you feel us touching your pretty clit? Do you feel how swollen we’re making you? How wet you are? So good, baby.”

An audible gasp escapes her as she drops her head back, her tits pressing into my face. Her legs are shaking around me. Her toes are bunching against the surface of the sofa.

God, I want to fuck her. I’m scared to, but at the same time, I can’t think of anything better.

Instead, I slide off the edge of the couch, letting my cock rub against the sofa, pacifying practically none of the burning need.

Fuck, the view from down here is dangerous. She’s breathtakingly bare. Her thong is pushed so far to one side, I’m able to memorize the entirety of her pussy. Every silky fold. The glistening slit.

“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Her muscles clench at that, and all I want to know is how fucking tight she is.

“Ryan, make me come,” she begs.

“Make yourself come.”

Moving her fingers, I slide them through her folds, prodding at her entrance. I guide her to press inside herself. Her middle finger disappears. In and out. Slick and wet.

The noises between her panting breaths, her incredible whimpers, and her soaked skin are going to do me in. But then she says a few more beautiful words and I could swear I’ve been transported to heaven.

“Yours too,” she pleads. “Put your finger inside me.”

“Fuck, Indy. You keep talking like that and I’m going to come before you do.”

“Wrap your hand around your cock then put your finger inside me. If this is the only way I get to have you inside of me, then please.”

If this is what it feels like to give up control and have a stunning woman tell me what to do, I need to let go more often.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you, Ryan?”

How much I want you, Ryan.

I let the words wash over me, basking in them. I can’t remember the last time I was truly wanted.

Pulling my cock out, I give it a quick tug, then pinch it at the base, needing to stop before I explode. When her finger comes out again, I cover it with mine, both of ours breaking the entrance.

She’s so goddamn tight. Our fingers are a snug fit, her walls already pulsing. And all I can think about is my cock in my hand. How deliciously constricted it would be inside her.

I stroke our fingers from the inside, playing with her and finding the spot against her front wall.

Indy’s a squirming mess, her head tossing back and forth. Her cries filled with “yes, right there,” “oh, how does it feel so good,” and my personal favorite, “I’m going to come.”

Her heaving body resists the impending orgasm, not letting go just yet. Typically, I love a bit of orgasm control, building her up, easing her back then up again until she releases. But tonight, I just want her to come. She’s been held back for far too long.

“Let it go, Ind. I need to see you let go.”

“Are you going to come?”

Am I going to come? The cock in my hand is leaking and angry that it’s not inside anything other than my fist. One quick tug and I’ll be coming all over the edge of this couch.

“Yeah, baby. I’m going to come.”

“Can I watch?”

Holy shit. That’s hot, and if that’s what she needs, who am I to deny her?

Removing my finger from her pussy, I’m back on my knees and between her legs.

Indy’s dazed gaze finds my dick as it moves between my languid strokes.

“Oh,” she breathes out. “Wow, that’s big.”

I chuckle. “Ind, how about you come before you start inflating my ego.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jesus. Not helping. 

I hover over her, cock in one hand, the other finding her throat. My muscles contract at an erratic pace. I watch as Indy fingers her clit, so much of her arousal covering her hand, and like the dirty bastard I am, I want to coat my hand in her and use it to get off.

But I don’t because I’m already crossing way more lines than I intended to tonight.

She keeps her attention on me. “Come on me,” she begs. “Oh fuck. I—”

“There it is. Good girl, Blue. You’re doing so fucking good.”

Her reaction to my words is immediate, her feet digging into the sofa, her stomach stiff and her tits pebbled with goosebumps. Her lips fall open as her entire body contracts, and when she closes her eyes and says “Ryan” like a prayer, I come with her.

Avoiding her red dress, I come on her stomach, covering her in me. We ride it out together, ecstasy and euphoria buzzing between us.

As I catch my breath, I watch her recover. I see the dazed and thankful glint in those mocha eyes. The unadulterated bliss in her expression. The flush of an overly needed orgasm warming her skin, and I’m ruined.

I’m fucking ruined.

If I thought I was fucked after the last time she came on me, this time, with my fingers contributing to the bliss, I’m done for. In what world did I think I could touch her, watch her touch herself, come all over her body and act like I could live another day without doing it again? How could I live another day without being inside of her?

As the post-coital fog lifts, realization hits me. This is my sister’s best friend. My sister who doesn’t have many friends because of who I am. Not only that, but Indy needs to live here. She needs to save money, and this could easily ruin our living situation.

But those aren’t the real reasons why my anxiety is settling in.

Quickly, I stand from the couch and tuck myself into my pants, grabbing a dish towel and wetting it under the sink.

“Are you okay?” she asks from the sofa.

Gripping my hands on the edge of the sink, I take a deep breath.

Get it together. This is fucking embarrassing. 

Panic begins to run through every nerve in my body. It prickles against every inch of my skin.

I exhale, long and slow, hoping to calm myself down. “Yeah.”

Back at the couch, I avoid eye contact as I clean up the mess I made.

Indy grabs my hand to stop me. “Ryan,” she says, forcing me to look her in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I blurt out too quickly.

I clean Indy up and fix her dress, pulling it both up and down to cover her beautiful body.

What is wrong with me? That was amazing and wonderful and fucking terrifying. I know why I’m panicking, and I was hoping that being with Indy in this capacity would fix it for me. That I could get over it.

It’s a fucking joke, thinking I’d be able to do that without wanting to have sex with her. As if abstaining from kissing her would help placate that fire. But all I can think about is the reason I’ve abstained for so long. The crushing feeling of being lied to by someone I trusted. The dark depression it dropped me in.

She curves a palm around the back of my neck. “Hey, look at me.”

I can’t. I feel like an asshole and a coward all wrapped into one. I place a swift kiss on her palm. “I’m sorry, Ind. It’s not you. I just need a minute.”

Without looking at the blonde beauty, I rush to my room, closing the door behind me. I drop my head back against the door and catch my breath.

Why am I like this? I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man who is panicking over sex. It’s a horrible combination of knowing what we just did isn’t enough for me, coupled with a fear to go further. It’s not sex that scares me. It’s the blind trust in another person that’s petrifying.

I was head over heels in love with a woman once, until I learned it wasn’t love at all. She lied to me. I trusted her more than anyone and she was trying to use me in the worst way possible. Clearly, my radar is off if I could fall for someone like that. Who says that’s not happening again?

A soft knock at my door startles me. “Ryan?” Indy says, hesitating for a moment.

I stay silent because I’m a fucking coward.

Her voice is soft and low, tenderly patient behind the door. “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment that I hate myself. I just made a kind, funny, beautiful naked woman come on my couch then left her there because I can’t get past my own shit. She doesn’t deserve that.

I have to fix this, and I have no fucking clue how.